


The Three Sleepless Nights of Sirius Black

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-29
Updated: 2004-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius has insomnia, with somewhat tragic effects.  McGonagall quite possibly orders Remus to participate in an orgy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Three Sleepless Nights of Sirius Black

Of all the ways to wake up in a morning, struggling for breath under the sudden weight of a hyperactive, wriggling Sirius Black was not top of Remus's list.

"Wakeupwakeupwake _up_!"

Remus squirmed to create enough room to breathe. "You great _oaf_."

"Insults later. Waking now."

Remus groaned from the very depths of his soul. "Lemme _sleep_ ," he pleaded.

It was as if he hadn't spoken. "Comeoncomeon! Mooooooooony." Failing to gain the response he wanted – Remus bounding bright-eyed out of bed and ready for mischief would have been top of the list – Sirius bounced above him on all fours. "Moony, come onnnnnn. Wakeupplease, c'monwake _up_." When Remus merely whimpered sadly, Sirius kissed him, a move he firmly believed to be irresistible. It was an enthusiastic if sloppy effort on his behalf, eliciting a thoroughly bewildered response on the part of his boyfriend.

"Ugh!" Remus grimaced expressively as Sirius pulled back. "Your morning breath . . . have you been chewing on your own socks again?"

Sirius batted him about the head a little. "Pay attention! Point is not socks . . . point is getting up. James is already awake . . ."

"I am not fucking awake," mumbled James from across the room. "If this is anything but a really fucking annoying dream, fucking annoying people are going to fucking die."

Sirius knelt up and looked over his shoulder. "I'm disappointed in you, Prongs. Where's your sense of adven . . . oof!"

Remus, having relieved himself of Sirius's weight with a well-placed, vicious shove, peered over the edge of his bed at the crumpled heap of Black below. "Sleep now," he suggested, before turning on his side to burrow under the covers. There was a vague noise of assent from James' bed across the room.

Sirius frowned. "This is madness," he said, clambering to his feet. "There is _mischief_ to be had! I have _plans_!" He turned and leapt upon Peter's bed. "Peter? Peter, old friend, don't you think it's time to get up?"

"Whaddaher. . umpf . . ." Peter was rarely known for eloquence before noon, much less at twelve minutes past dawn when being assaulted by a rabid teenage boy.

Sirius was undaunted. "Up, Peter, up! Come on, mate, I know you can do it, I know you can rally."

Peter sighed softly. "Madeleine?" he asked, and reached up to tangle his fingers in Sirius's hair, pulling him down for a surprisingly thorough kiss.

It was several moments before Sirius seized the presence of mind to pull away. He stared at his friend. "Peter . . . " He cleared his throat, fiddling with the blankets on Peter's bed as he contemplated his second snog of the morning. "Not bad, mate, not bad, but if I could give you a couple of pointers?"

Peter had, however, already rolled over into his pillow and was murmuring sweet nothings to the Madeleine of his dreams.

Sirius sighed as he surveyed the dorm and the blanketed heaps that spoke of his lackluster brothers-in-arms. "Heartless," he said, aloud, hoping to create a defensive commotion. "Reckless thwarters of joy." No one stirred, and Sirius slipped off Peter's bed to pad dejectedly across the room. "Remus?" he whispered.

Remus opened one exhausted eye and yelped with surprise at the sight of Sirius hovering beside him, nose all but brushing Remus's own. "Sirius . . . "

"Can you please wake up now? Please?" Sirius injected his voice with every ounce of heartbreak he could muster. "Only I've been up all night and I'm bored and lonely and I have _so many ideas_ we need to start working on _right away_. Please? Pleasepleaseplease?"

Remus rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes with resignation. Experience had taught him that a Sirius Black without sleep was a Sirius Black who – in opposition to all regular laws of nature – had energy to burn and no qualms about burning it. "Bugger," he murmured.

A tentative hand brushed hair away from his forehead. "Does that mean you'll get up?" asked Sirius, quietly.

Remus growled as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Yes it bloody means I'll get up. It's not like you'll give me a bloody moment's peace until I do."

Sirius leapt up, waving his hands above his head in a mad expression of joy. "Remus!"

" _Provided,_ " said Remus, slipping out of bed and pushing past Sirius to shuffle toward the bathroom, "we go downstairs and leave everyone else in peace and _provided_ you put on some bloody _pants_."

Sirius stared at his own nakedness, perplexed. "Envy," he muttered, before rummaging in Remus's trunk for the soft flannel pajama bottoms he loved best.

~*~

"So why couldn't you sleep?" asked Remus, sitting on the very squashiest of the common-room couches with his eyes closed.

"Not really sure." Sirius was investigating every nook and cranny of the room with a vigor that suggested he'd never spent time there before. "I wondered if I perhaps slept _too_ well the previous night."

Remus opened an eye. "Sunday night? You slept too well on Sunday night?"

"Must be it."

Remus opened his other eye. "Sunday night we fell asleep on a trampoline."

Sirius threw himself on the couch, propping his chin on Remus's shoulder. "I know. Wasn't it _great_?"

Remus blinked unsteadily, trying to bring Sirius's grinning visage into focus. "Parts of it were, yes."

"Only parts?" Sirius sat up, primed and ready to vibrate with indignation.

"I'm not trying to besmirch your character. The hour of solid sleep I got before my feet began to freeze, glacier-like, was lovely."

"But I fixed that cold thing for you."

"You set my socks on fire."

"And then I doused the flames."

"With a charm for _ice water_."

Sirius looked chagrined. "I don't understand why your feet are always so cold to begin with, anyway."

Remus arched an eyebrow at such a clumsy attempt to change the subject. "Let's take a moment to recall that you inadvertently set your own concealment charm to dissipate after twelve hours. Let's reminisce about the hurried diversionary spells you tried to cast as Filch came tearing down from the castle, which ended up embedding cactus spines in your own arse . . . "

"M'wand's faulty."

"And let us not forget McGonagall's arrival, or the part where I was hit on the head by a reverse-transfigured poker as I tried to work out why I was wearing James underpants over my trousers."

"I still say you should have rolled with my explanation about sporting the latest in Beauxbatons' fashion."

"And then . . . and _then_ . . ." Remus paused with a smile that made Sirius want run away and hide. "Three nights of detention. Oh _happy_ day."

"Night actually. Seven o'clock on the dot." Catching the look on Remus's face, Sirius pressed his lips together. "Not the point?"

"Not the point."

"What was the point again?"

Remus gave Sirius a measured look. "Sleeping. And your lack of it."

Sirius looked suddenly miserable. "Did you really have such an awful time, night before last?" he asked, his voice very small.

Remus sighed. "No, Pads." He reached out to wind his fingers with Sirius's. "If three detentions is the price for bouncing like a nutcase on that trampoline and falling asleep with you – if only for a moment – so be it." He squeezed Sirius's hand. "I just don't know that anything about that night qualifies as _good sleep_. Seems to me that last night was your second night of sleeplessness in a row."

Sirius shrugged. "Well it's not like there's much else that could be keeping me awake."

"Maybe something was on your mind."

Sirius considered the idea. "I did have the sense that I was forgetting something, that something was _missing_." He sighed. "I never worked out what it was, so I moved on to other things." He shot a sly glance to the boy beside him. "Like ways we could turn all the water in the Slytherin bathrooms into bright green Bundimun snot."

"Which part of last night's detention did you particularly enjoy?" asked Remus, lightly.

Sirius pulled a face. "None of it. Blimey, your mind doesn't half jump about."

"Well, since you're clearly so anxious to add _more_ detentions to those we've already earned, I wondered if perhaps you had a sick love of being punished. A crush on McGonagall perhaps?"

Sirius made an expressive face. "Slander, libel treason and _slander_."

"Have I made my point?"

Sirius sighed again. "Fine. Boring, boring Remus Lupin."

Remus leaned over and pressed his lips to Sirius's forehead. "Boring, am I?"

Sirius, whose eyes had closed under the sweetness of the kiss, smiled. "Perhaps you could persuade me of your more interesting talents?" he suggested.

"Perhaps I could," Remus whispered in reply.

~*~

By 6.45pm that evening, Sirius had the distinct feeling that he was unraveling at the seams like a threadbare jumper. What energy had been gifted him that morning was long gone, replaced by the creeping sense that insides were trying to crawl out his nostrils to dance on his head. He threw himself into a chair at the front of the Transfiguration classroom, buried his face in his arms, and groaned as if it were the only thing in the world at which he might succeed.

"Nap didn't take then?" asked Remus, sitting down beside him with the air of someone who had been doing responsible things in a library.

Sirius turned his head, peering at Remus with one, bleary eye. "Couldn't sleep. Not a wink. Just felt like something was all _wrong again_ , out of sorts, muddled and missing and . . . weird."

Remus smoothed a hand over Sirius's hair. "Is that a black eye?"

Sirius nodded miserably. "Fiona Smith."

"What did you do?"

"Speculated – apparently out loud – about whether she ever hurt herself with those boobs. I was just curious, you know? Maybe she turns a corner too fast and BAM, they rebound and it's nothing but trouble. I mean, how would _I_ know how boobs work?"

Remus smothered a smile. "Did you apologize?"

Sirius propped himself up a little. "Didn't even believe I'd said it all out loud until Peter confirmed it. Side effect of not sleeping seems to be that I say everything I'm thinking." He squinted at Remus. "Don't mind telling you that's a pretty dangerous thing."

"I can only imagine."

"I may also have speculated that Dumbledore has perhaps the finest arse in the wizarding world."

"I'm surprised to find out you don't hold your own in higher regard."

"I'm surprised to find out _yours_ didn't top the list."

"Perhaps if I let you see it more often," suggested Remus with a devilish grin.

Sirius managed a half-hearted whimper. "Don't tempt me with the prospect of ravishment," he whined. "I couldn't so much as debauch a . . ." He searched for an adequately easy conquest.

"Shower stall?" asked Remus, archly. "Pillow?"

Sirius sat up, looking scandalized. "What do you know of shower stalls and pillows?"

Remus shrugged, all innocence. "Do you suppose McGonagall will have us clean out the animal cages again?" he asked.

"How much can rabbits possibly shit in one night?" Sirius replied. "Even if traumatized by their momentary incarnation as teapots. Back to shower stalls and pillows . . . "

"I very much doubt such subjects would be fit for my ears, Mr. Black."

Sirius turned to see Professor McGonagall standing in the classroom doorway, looking entirely too amused. He swallowed hard. "Permission to die now, Professor?"

"Permission denied." McGonagall swept past in a rustle of lavender-smelling plaid. "I wouldn't wish to deny Professor Flitwick the joy of your company on Thursday evening."

Remus threw Sirius a look. " _Another_ detention?" he asked, voice low.

Sirius sighed. "I may have suggested just where he could put his flick-flick-swish," he confessed.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek as McGonagall settled herself behind her desk. "Now, gentlemen, tonight's task." She peered at them both, as if weighing her choices. "Filing, I think."

"Filing?" Sirius looked thunderstruck.

"Yes, Mr. Black. I believe you may have heard of the concept? The archiving and indexing of certain documents so that others may easily locate them in the future?"

"But filing involves _words_." He paused to let that sink in. " _Letters_."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "I'm so glad to see your education has not been a complete waste, Mr. Black."

"But, but . . . " He spluttered, entirely nonplussed. "This is supposed to be punishment!"

"Yes. Considering your rather negligent relationship with words and letters in your school career so far, I feel confident it's exactly that."

Sirius gestured expressively toward Remus. "But him! He practically has _sex_ with books, which are just _full_ of words and letters. He loves them and adores them and _smells_ them. And he's _organized_." Oblivious to Remus's embarrassment, Sirius plunged on. "You're more or less ordering Remus to have an _orgy_ , Professor."

McGonagall could say this much for Remus Lupin – he knew just where to kick a person when they were down.

~*~

"Where's Remus?" asked James, sitting down at breakfast the next morning.

"Library," muttered Peter around a large mouthful of Fizzing Flakes and milk. He jerked his head to the boy sitting beside him. "They're still on the outs."

James ladled porridge into a bowl, eyeing Sirius with deep suspicion. "Did he sleep last night?" he asked Peter.

"I'm right _here_ ," muttered Sirius.

"Sorry, mate. Thought you were contemplating the brave loaves of bread who gave their lives so that you could eat toast."

Sirius screwed up his face in confusion. "What?"

James gestured toward the limp piece of charred bread in Sirius's left hand. "Put the damn thing out of its misery, I beg you."

" _Fine_." Sirius dropped the toast on his plate.

James arched an eyebrow. "Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning."

"Didn't get out of bed. Didn't get _in_ bed. Filed until my eyes bled, begged and pleaded with high-and-mighty Remus Lupin until my voice gave out, sat on the couch in the common-room until dawn broke, and now I'm here, eating toast, and contemplating how I might just DIE if I don't sleep soon."

"I'm more worried that you might kill _us_ ," mumbled Peter. "Delusional rage, all that."

Sirius threw him a filthy look. "I'm not about to injure _other people_ just because _I'm suffering more than anyone ever suffered in the history of the world_."

"Hyperbole aside," threw in James.

"Eat your damn porridge," said Sirius, his tone suggesting he was directing James do unmentionable things to his own mother rather than eat oatmeal.

Used to such outbursts, James picked up a banana out of spite. "Still no idea why you can't sleep?"

"No," said Sirius, miserably. "Just this terrible sense of things being wrong. Something's always _missing_." He frowned. "Could it be a premonition, do you think?"

Peter shrugged. "Go see the divination woman. What's her name?"

"Batshit McLoonball?" offered James, with mock gravity.

"That's it. Go see her."

"I'm not going near McLoonball or her batty shit," said Sirius, drawing faces in the jam on his toast. "Might go see Pomfrey though."

James swallowed a bite of porridge. "Why?"

"Maybe she has sleeping draughts. Or a really large frying pan with which she could beat me about the head."

"I've heard stories about Pomfrey's sleeping draughts," said Peter. "Last bloke who took one ended up on top of the Astronomy Tower. Swore Helga Hufflepuff herself had lured him up there with the promise of a blow-job and a new tutu."

"That image just made my pancreas shrivel and die," said James.

Peter shrugged. "I'm just being helpful." He squinted thoughtfully. "What's a pancreas?"

"It's where you keep your hexes. And spare change for the bus," said Sirius, pushing his plate away and letting his head slip forward to meet the table.

"No time for sleeping now," said James. "Class. Class with McGonagall." He leaned over the table to ruffle Sirius's hair. "You do _not_ want to get on her bad side. Well, any more than you already are."

Sirius rose unsteadily from his seat. "Think she'll kill me if I bait her hard enough?"

"You really feel that bad?" asked James, serious at last.

"Worse, said Sirius, sighing from somewhere beneath the bottom of his soul.

~*~

It was almost half-past-seven that evening when Remus burst into the common-room. "Sirius?" he yelled, exasperated. Save for numerous looks of trepidation from a group of second-years gathered by the fire, he received no answer as he crossed the room. Bounding up the dormitory stairs, he yelled again. "Sirius? Sirius bloody Black, you're late for detention and McGonagall sent me to tell you . . . " He stopped dead in the doorway to their room. "Sirius?"

Sirius was sitting cross-legged on his bed, two fat tears rolling slowly down his face. "Hmm?" he replied, vaguely.

Heart in his throat, Remus hurried across the room. "What is it? Are you hurt? Did something happen?" With enormous force of will he stayed his hands, afraid to reach out for fear he'd disturb broken bones or gashes unseen. What else could explain Sirius Black in _tears_? "Sirius, please, what's wrong?" He could feel his heart beating painfully with panic.

Sirius blinked, and two more tears rolled down his cheeks. "Nothing's wrong," he said, sounding perplexed. "Why'd you think something was wrong? In fact, why are you talking to me at all?

Remus stared at him as if he'd grown another head. "I was mad at you. I had good reason. But now you're crying and I don't mind telling you you're scaring me half out of my wits. What _happened_?

Sirius almost smiled at that. "Me. Crying. That's funny."

"Sirius . . . " Remus stretched out a hand and brushed one of the tears from Sirius's face. Tilting his wrist he let light reflect from his fingertips.

Sirius frowned, peering at Remus's fingers as if they were the strangest things he'd ever seen. Lifting his own hand to his face, he swiped at his cheek and looked with astonishment at the dampness glistening on his skin. "What the . . . "

"You're not hurt?" Remus forced himself to speak calmly.

"No."

"No bad news?"

"No." Sirius lifted his head to look back at Remus. "I don't understand . . . "

"Did you sleep yet?"

Sirius shook his head, and another fat tear began to track down his face. "And I'm so tired, Moony. So fucking tired."

Remus felt his exasperation shatter and bleed into nothing. "Budge up," he murmured, sitting on the bed, but Sirius had already made room. Remus wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, and shifted them both until Sirius lay with his head on Remus's shoulder, curled against his side. "Let's just rest a minute," he murmured. "Even if you don't sleep, just rest a moment."

"I'm sorry about last night," mumbled Sirius. "I didn't mean to say that stuff about the books and the orgy."

Remus sighed. "You never do mean most of what you say, Pads."

"I probably embarrass you quite a bit, don't I?" Sirius sighed. "I think I must suck quite a lot."

Remus gave a wry chuckle. "You're not yourself. You're all your annoying parts right now – the soft parts have taken a holiday."

"Well that doesn't sound like much fun. I like my soft parts." Sirius sounded almost like someone who was drifting toward sleep. "Especially the soft parts that go all hard when . . . "

" _Thank you_ , Sirius. I get the picture."

"You have pictures? In your head? Of that? Of _me_?" Sirius made a delighted snuffling sound. "I want to hear about the pictures. In your head. Of that. Of me."

"This is one of those times where you're sucking quite a lot."

"In the pictures? In your head? I do that?"

Remus smacked the back of Sirius's head. "Resting now."

Sirius nodded, sleepily. "Sorry. About the sucking. The general annoying sort, not the picture in your head kind."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Well, thankfully for the rest of us, it seems to all work out in the end. You're a git, I smack you around . . . "

A small huff of laughter as Sirius nuzzled closer.

" . . . James does unmentionable things to your broom . . . "

"m'broom?"

" . . . and everyone feels better."

"Even Peter?"

"Even Peter."

Sirius sighed, feeling both the most wretched and contented he'd felt in days. The whole world had seemed tilted on its axis since the wee small hours of Monday morning, full of corners and barbs, prickles and stings. It was a relief to finally find a space where he belonged, here in the arms of this quiet boy whose fingers were threading a pattern of solace through his hair. Sirius yawned. "McGongall'll be mad, if you stay."

"So I'll do detention on Thursday night as well."

"Y'sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sirius nodded, soothed from the inside out by the soft warmth spreading in his limbs. And in that instant, everything became clear. "You," he breathed, astonished.

"What?"

Sirius lifted his head. "M' _such_ an idiot."

" _What_?"

"The thing that was wrong, the reason I couldn't sleep . . ." He shook his head in wonder. "I was missing you. I wanted to fall asleep with _you_."

"Oh." Remus looked as surprised as Sirius felt, an expression that melted into something deeper, something that once again made his cheeks flush with pink. " _Padfoot_."

Sirius dropped his head and nuzzled close again. "Have to think 'bout this." He yawned, eyes weighed down with exhaustion. "Can't be treating you like . . . like a stuffed . . . "

"Animal?" offered Remus.

"Bear. Frog. Owl. Thing that kids sleep with." Sirius gave a tiny moan of satisfaction as sleep pulled him under. "Can't treat you like you're my stuffed thingamy, Moony."

Remus felt his heart warm and swell. "No, not every day," he whispered. "But if we were to start with just tonight . . . that would be . . ." He smiled as he felt Sirius's limbs go heavy and lax. "That would OK," he finished, staring off into the distance, a wondering smile playing about his lips.


End file.
